“Simon and Jenny are adults. They are allowed to do whatever they want,” he said, keeping his lid on.
“You realize that’s just some pitiful excuse that men use to get women in bed and then ditch them the next day,” Tasha argued.
Spence let out a breath and pivoted to hand her the coffee. She was cute when she was all flushed with anger, eyes bright, but he hated that it was directed at him.
“Simon had some very good reasons to leave,” he said.
“What reasons?” she demanded.
Spence shook his head. “I can’t talk about his shit with you.”
“Why not?” Now she looked hurt on top of angry.
“Because it’s not my shit to share.”
Wrong answer.
“What, is this some sort of ‘bros before hos’ thing?”
“No, no it isn’t.” Every part of him wanted to walk away from the conversation, but if he wanted a real future with Tasha, a real relationship, here it was. “Would you tell me all of Jenny’s personal stuff if roles were reversed?”
Tasha’s lip quivered. She hid it by taking a swig of coffee, then saying, “If we were in a serious relationship, yes, I would.”
She avoided his eyes. It was a lie.
Spence crossed the kitchen to pick up his mug from the counter where he’d left it. His coffee was lukewarm at best, but the bitterness was a comfort.
“I’m sorry that Simon walked out on Jenny,” he said. “He had sound reasons, and it’s not like there was anything serious between them.”
Tasha snorted. “You don’t know anything then.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he admitted.
Her jaw flexed as though her teeth were clenched tight and she was fighting internal demons now. At least she wasn’t yelling at him anymore.
At last she said, “Look, I’m angry. I think Simon is a rotten coward if he’s going to screw and run. You can make light of it, but Jenny will be hurt.”
“Are you sure?” he asked against his better judgment. “Maybe she was just having fun.”
The flat stare she gave him was her answer.
“You guys think it’s fun to screw around, convincing yourself we woman are in on it, don’t you? You don’t even blink an eyelash as you’re sticking your dick in whatever convenient hole comes along. That’s all you think we are, isn’t it? Holes for you to come in.”
Spence’s frustration welled at the same time that understanding dawned. He took a step closer to her, letting his indignation show for a change.
“I am not Brad,” he barked at her. Harsh, maybe, but she needed to understand that. Sure enough, she blinked and inched back, cheeks flushing a deeper red, as if she’d been found out. “Simon’s not Brad either. I’m sorry you were hurt by that two-bit douche, but he’s the exception, not the rule.”
“I…I didn’t mean—”
“Yes you did.” He cut off her backpedaling. “And I’m sorry that stuff happened to make you think like that, but you’re wrong.”
“I know you’re not like that,” she said, so quiet, her eyes downcast and meek—the way she’d been in the restaurant weeks ago when Brad’s shit of a brother went after her—that Spence’s anger vanished.
“Come here.” He plucked her mug out of her hands and put it and his mug on the counter. Then he folded Tasha in his arms, hugging her tight. “I’m not going to treat you like he did. And I know you don’t believe me, but Simon is not treating Jenny like that either.”
“But he walked out.” She tensed like a rock in his arms. “Without saying goodbye.”
“What’s all this?”
Jenny strolled into the kitchen, bright and cheery and as put together as if she’d been up for hours. Her long hair was sleek in a ponytail, and she wore those odd high-heel-looking flip-flop things that Spence did not understand. Tasha took one look at Jenny and pulled out of his arms, guilt painted boldly on her face. He could only hope that was about Simon and not him.
“Where’s Simon?” Jenny asked, looking around as if he’d hidden behind the fridge or would come popping out of a drawer.
“He left.” Spence got right to the point.
Tasha glared at him. Jenny froze, the color leaving her face.
“He left?” she asked.
“About half an hour ago,” Tasha confirmed.
“When’s he coming back?”
Damn. Tasha was right. Jenny was going to take this hard. He hoped for her sake that Tasha had overestimated the level of attachment Jenny had developed.
“He’s not coming back, babe,” Tasha said with that sweet kind of sympathy that only women could manage with each other. She crossed the hall to hug Jenny.
Jenny pushed her back after a distracted squeeze. “What do you mean not coming back?” she asked Spence.
Spence could only shrug. “He had stuff to sort out.” And that was as close as he was going to get to revealing any of it.
“Stuff?”
Unlike Tasha, the more Jenny grasped the situation, the younger and more fragile she appeared. He had half a mind to hug her himself, if he’d had any idea whether that would help the situation or make Tasha twice as mad at him.
“Do you want some coffee?” Spence fell back on what he knew he did well. “I can make some waffles too.”
“Spence,” Tasha snapped at him. “This is no time for—”
“Yeah, that’d be nice,” Jenny interrupted her. She smiled, suddenly cheerful. Too cheerful. “Is there anything I can help with?”
Tasha’s jaw dropped as she stared between the two of them.
“You could set the table out on the porch?” he suggested. “It’s a nice enough day to eat out there.”
“Sure thing.”
Jenny bounced into action, but Spence had spent enough of his life around actors and fakes to know when someone was putting a mood on. He went to work making waffles while Jenny and Tasha set up the table outside. Each time Jenny came into the kitchen to get something, her smile had slipped a little more and her perky mask had chipped. On top of that, Tasha grew quieter and more withdrawn.
By the time they were all seated around the table outside with a heaping plate of waffles in the center of the table, the mood was downright chilly. It continued that way for far too long.
“I gave him my card,” Jenny broke the silence at last with her upbeat reflection. She’d only made a show of eating her waffles, cutting them into smaller and smaller pieces and shoving them around the plate swimming in syrup. “My card has my number on it. I’m sure he’ll call me when he’s done whatever he needs to do.”
“Sure,” Spence said, his own smile as practiced as could be.
“We had such a good time,” she said, a little more faded.
“Yeah, you looked like you were enjoying yourselves,” Spence agreed.
“And each other,” Jenny added, barely audible. “At least I thought so.”
“This is Yvonne’s fault,” Tasha muttered, not to anyone in particular.
“How?” Spence asked.
“Yvonne’s your guys’ agent, right?” Jenny perked up.
“Yes,” Spence and Tasha answered at the same time, him enthusiastic, her ominous.
“She’s a meddling harpy,” Tasha went on.
“She’s our agent,” Spence corrected her.
“Do you think she knows where he went?”
Spence would have given his right nut not to be at that table right then. “I don’t think so,” he said, even though Yvonne had Simon’s cell number and Simon would always answer her calls.
“I’m sure Simon will be in touch as soon as he can,” Jenny said with a forced smile.
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up too high,” Tasha followed. It seemed a little too harsh to Spence, but then, maybe that was how best friends talked to each other.
“Oh, I don’t have high hopes or anything,” Jenny laughed, waving away the idea. “It was just some fun.”
Just some fun, but the way she st
ood suddenly from the table and picked up her plate told another story.
“I think I’m just going to take this into the kitchen, then I’ll hit the road,” she said.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Tasha rose as abruptly as Jenny had, sending him a sharp look as though the whole thing was his fault.
“No, I need to get back to Portland,” Jenny said. She turned so fast her ponytail swished, then marched into the house.
“I’m so sorry about this.” Tasha chased after her.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Spence breathed out once he was alone at the table.
Well, he’d wanted truth and honesty with Tasha, and now he had it, dark looks, misplaced blame, and all. He stabbed a fork into a short stack of waffles on the center plate and moved it to his own. Might as well enjoy the simple things while he could. He had some serious damage repair to do in the near future.
“Simon, Simon.” He shook his head as he reached for the pot to refill his coffee. His friend had just given him a master class in how not to treat a woman.
Chapter Fifteen
Fools. Love had a way of making people into complete fools. Jenny may have left, but for the rest of the week, Tasha replayed the weekend, looking for some way either one of them could have predicted that Simon would sleep and run. He’d been charming, attentive, and had hung on Jenny’s every word.
Then again, Brad had been sweet, affectionate, and at least pretended to listen to everything Tasha had said to him for years. Look how that turned out? Red-heads and musical beds.
Tasha sighed heavily and reached for a fuzzy blue puzzle piece at the corner of the dining room table.
“What’s that sigh for?” Spence asked.
She frowned on instinct, then smoothed her features. “Nothing. I just can’t find all of the water pieces that go right here.”
It was a white lie. It didn’t count. Judging by the twitch of Spence’s eyebrow, he didn’t buy it anyhow.
She tried the piece in a few positions, and when it didn’t fit anywhere, she went back to searching. Went back to thinking, was more like it.
Brad and Simon. Birds of a feather. Hunky liars who couldn’t care less about the hearts they squashed. At least Jenny hadn’t dated her loser for thirteen years before she was dumped. Thirteen long, embarrassing years when everyone and their brother was probably laughing at her behind their hands, wondering how she could be so stupid, so dumpable, so blah.
“Here. Try this one in the corner there. It looks like it might fit.” Spence offered her a piece.
She took it with a half-hearted smile. Worry tightened his mouth and made tiny lines around his eyes. Those lines should be smile lines, but not today. Her heart thumped a little harder in her chest, especially when the puzzle piece fit. Part of her was certain that Spence was different, that he really was the nice guy he seemed to be. He was dynamite in bed, as if trying to make up for Simon. She could let go of the worries gnawing her when they were together and just be with him. She could forget everything in his arms, including her name.
Just like she’d forgotten who she was with Brad. For thirteen years.
Who was she anyway?
The question sent a cold chill down her back. She fought it by straightening and stretching. Spence continued to work at the puzzle. She took the opportunity to study him. Angel or asshole? The jury was still out. God, he was hot, but hot was only good for baking bread and washing whites. Jenny was hot too, and look what happened there. Tasha couldn’t hold a candle to her friend’s hotness. So why was Spence still there? Why hadn’t he shoved off too?
Because he had the house for the summer. Pure and simple. He had planned to be there. At least for a few more weeks. What then?
“You know, usually I don’t mind if a woman stares at me,” he said, eyes still on the table as he searched puzzle pieces. He found the one he wanted and picked it up. “But I’m not sure I like the look in your eyes.”
“I don’t have a look in my eyes.” She snapped her head down, trying to focus on the table.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”
“Nope.”
“So you admit something’s wrong?”
Damn. There was no way to answer that but to not answer it.
“I agree that Simon was a jerk,” Spence said for the hundredth time, “but he had his reasons.”
Her sinking guilt hardened to anger all over again. Brad had had his reasons too. A whole book of them. She was too boring. Her job was embarrassing to someone like him. She’d gained too much weight. The red-head was willing to do things she had always refused to do. Well, guess what, Mr. Bradley Jamison? She’d done plenty of those things and more with Spence.
That thought left a sour feeling in her stomach. Who was she to do those sorts of things? Boring, pudgy Miss Pike sure wouldn’t. So where did that leave her?
Spence huffed out a breath and stood straight, planting his hands on his hips. “You’ve been staring at the tabletop for five minutes without moving. We’re done with puzzles for today.”
“What? No. You wanted to do the puzzle,” she argued.
“Yeah, because I thought it would take your mind off of Simon and Jenny and whatever the hell else is gnawing at you.”
She should be flinching at his show of anger, but instead it made her bold. “Who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t think?”
He dropped his shoulders and pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. “Tasha, I’m not trying to tell you what to think. I’m trying to help you move past whatever—”
There was a knock at the door, and a moment later it opened.
“Hello?” Duke called down the hall. “Mr. Ellis? Miss Pike?”
Tasha nearly cringed at the name children called her being spoken by a man twice her size.
“Yeah?” Spence crossed to the archway separating the dining room from the hall. Tasha followed.
Duke’s huge frame filled the doorway, but behind him, a pair of preteen girls stood on their tip-toes, peeking through whatever spaces Duke would allow them. They didn’t look like the usual giggling band of groupies.
“What can we do for you?” Spence asked. Like that, he was on. Charming as a puppy.
“Mr. Ellis?” one of the girls asked. When Spence motioned for Duke to step aside, the girl rested back on her feet and extended a hand with a smile. “Hi. I’m Casey.”
“I’m Holly,” the other one said. “Hi, Miss Pike. My cousin Jason was in your class a couple of years ago.”
That tiny bit of information jarred Tasha out of her funk. “Oh? Which Jason?”
“Jason Abbott. I’m Holly Abbott.”
“Do you girls want to come inside?” Spence asked.
“No, actually, we were hoping you would come with us,” Casey said.
Tasha exchanged a surprised look with Spence. It felt good to be on the same page with him, if only for a second.
“Come with you?” she asked.
“See, here’s the thing,” Casey rushed on. “We’re part of Summerbury Day Camp’s arts program. We’re having an art show up at the marina today.”
“In about an hour,” Holly added.
“And we just got the idea that maybe….” Casey went beet-red, as though it had just dawned on her what she was doing.
“We wondered if you could come over and be our judges,” Holly finished. “I mean, a teacher and a famous guy. How cool is that?”
Spence burst into a smile that shaved years off of him. “That’s the best invitation I’ve had all week.” He glanced to Tasha, a light back in his eyes that had been missing since before the weekend. “You want to do it?”
“Sure,” Tasha answered with a carefree shrug. Carefree, and yet, for some reason, her heart was doing flips like it had the first time Spence kissed her.
“Great,” Casey recovered enough to say. She took a step back. “So if we leave now, we should be able to get there in time to help set up before the doors open.”
“Now?” Tasha blinked.
The girls tensed. “Yes?” Holly said.
“I don’t see why not,” Spence said. “Let me just grab my phone. Do you want your purse?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s on the kitchen counter.”
The girls were all smiles again. Tasha smiled with them, although her heart still felt too big for her ribs and her gut was more unsettled than it should have been. She blamed it on the remnants of her earlier train of thought. She blamed it on Simon and on Brad. They didn’t have enough things blamed on them. It was far more satisfying than wrapping herself up in that blame and making it her own.
By the time she, Spence, and the girls—followed closely by Duke with his full security swagger—made it down the front steps to the driveway, Tasha was smiling in earnest. For just a few hours, she would leave her troubles at Sand Dollar Point. There was art out there, and it needed to be judged. The art did, not her. Maybe this would be a good day after all.
The second he stepped into the old warehouse that had been converted to a day camp classroom, Spence was in another world. The floor was linoleum and the walls were a simple white, but bright, cheerful children’s artwork lined them. Six long folding tables had been set up in rows down the middle of the room, all holding various sculptures made from clay, bits of driftwood and beach glass, and, yes, even macaroni. Each masterpiece had an index card with a number next to it for the sake of the contest. Stacks of plastic chairs leaned against one wall, waiting for a couple dozen squirming kid butts to sit in them and create.
Right now, those dozens of kids were showing their parents around the displays, pointing out their work with bright, shining faces. The parents admired the art, no matter what it looked like. Only a few of them shot Spence a glance now and then. Most of that was to nod hello the way they would with any other member of the town. Five weeks was more than enough for Summerbury to get over their initial burst of celebrity curiosity. He was almost one of them now. One of them in flip-flops and sunscreen, admiring finger paintings of undersea life or crayon drawings of boats. Even Duke moved between the paintings on the wall, smiling at the art instead of glowering over him.
Summer with a Star (Second Chances Book 1) Page 20